


Dance With Me Instead

by yarnjunkie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Eventual Smut, Frottage, Greg is a good man, Greg is a smooth motherfucker, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining Greg, Relationship Negotiation, Sad Sherlock, Sherlock is a big sad gay baby, Slow Burn, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 03:45:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1590479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/pseuds/yarnjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has battled his way through John's wedding. He's hurting, he's broken, and John isn't going to fix it. Luckily, someone else is there, waiting to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've Been Miserable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lookupkate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/gifts).



> For Kate. My one and only, my inspiration in all things, my very own John Watson.

“Dance when you're broken open. Dance if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free.”

― Rumi

When Sherlock had been ‘dead’ he’d ached for John Watson. He’d missed him terribly and he’d spent uncountable hours wishing that he’d told John about his feelings. Sherlock had loved John almost from the beginning. However, since he’d never been in love before, Sherlock didn’t know what he was feeling. By the time he’d figured it out, he’d already told John that he was ‘married to his work’. He’d become attached to his army doctor and was afraid that if he told John about his feelings, it would scare him away. Sherlock didn’t want to lose his friend so he never said anything. 

When he’d returned from the ‘dead’, Sherlock was going to tell John everything. When Mycroft told him about Mary, Sherlock felt like all the air in the room had gone. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t fair. He’d done all of this for John. He’d left behind everything he cared about, killed so many people, withstood torture; all to save John and find a way to return to him. But John had moved on. He was going to ask this woman to marry him. He’d not longed for Sherlock the way Sherlock had longed for him. 

Sherlock had walked into the restaurant hoping to put a stop to the proposal. He did, of course. But, somehow it hadn’t changed anything. He’d thought maybe the temptation of returning to their dangerous life would make John turn away from Mary and come back home. It didn’t. 

And the worst part, the very worst thing about the whole situation, was that as badly as Sherlock wanted to hate Mary, he simply couldn’t. She was interesting, and fun, and she _liked_ Sherlock. She had convinced John to give Sherlock another chance. She encouraged them to spend time together. So even as he stood and listened to the man he loved promise to spend his life with Mary, Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to hate her. She made John happy and that was all Sherlock ever wanted. 

But it hurt. It hurt so much. Sherlock had never felt such pain. Having to conceal it and not let on was the most awful experience of his life. 

And now here he was; watching John and Mary dance away, smiling at each other over the news of Mary’s pregnancy. Mycroft’s voice was echoing in Sherlock’s head, ‘I told you, don’t get involved. Caring is not an advantage.’

He had to find something to do. He couldn’t just stand here staring at the Watsons. Fuck, that thought hurt. He should dance. He loved dancing. Maybe that would distract him for a while. Janine had said that the Chief Bridesmaid and the Best Man were expected to spend the evening together. Surely it would be acceptable for him to dance with her. 

He spotted her across the floor and she smiled at him. As he moved to approach her she pointed out the man she was dancing with. Ah. Better not then.

Perhaps Molly? Oh, yes, she was with…Tim? Ted? Tom? TOM! Yes, that’s it.

There was Mrs. Hudson. Oh, but she'd never shut up. That wouldn't do.

Sherlock sighed. No one to dance with. No one to talk to. 

No John. 

May as well leave. The night wasn't going to get any better, anyway. 

Sherlock spared one last look to John. He was dancing horribly but laughing. It was beautiful and it hurt so much. Yes, definitely time to go. 

He turned and left the room. He retrieved his coat and scarf and left the building. He thought no one had seen him leaving. He was wrong. 

Sherlock put on his coat and scarf as he walked down the path that lead out of the garden and toward the road. He got most of the way there before he heard someone call his name. 

Damn. He’d really not wanted to have to explain his early departure to anyone. 

Lestrade stopped in front of him, his face concerned. 

“Where are you off to?” Lestrade asked.

“I’m going home, obviously.” 

“But, the reception’s not over. You’re the best man! You’re supposed to be dancing!” Lestrade said. He’d had a bit much to drink and was oddly excited. 

“No one wants to dance with me,” Sherlock replied. “Everyone is paired off and I’m the odd man out.”

“Everyone?” Lestrade asked. “Or just the one person you want?” 

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Sherlock,” the older man snorted. “Despite what you think, I _am_ a detective. A damn good one. And if you think that your feelings for John have been a secret to everyone but you, you’re dead wrong.” 

“Well, it doesn’t matter now.” Sherlock snapped, turning to leave. 

“Dance with me instead.” Lestrade said.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. “What?” 

Lestrade stepped forward. He lifted one of Sherlock’s hands and placed it on his shoulder. Then, he put one hand on Sherlock’s waist and clasped the younger man’s other hand. 

“Dance with me,” he whispered. 

Sherlock tried to ignore the flutter in his belly. Lestrade was warm and smelled wonderful. His body felt hard under Sherlock’s hand. He rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath. 

“Fine, Gavin. Let’s dance.” 

Lestrade smiled and began leading the dance. “It’s Greg, you git.” 

“Whatever.” 

They danced for a while. The only sound was the music coming from inside the building. One song faded out and something slow came on. Greg slowed their movements and held Sherlock a little bit closer.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock,” the DI said softly. “The whole thing couldn’t have been easy for you. Watching the man you love, love someone else; I know how awful it is.” 

“Do you?” Sherlock asked, looking into Lestrade’s eyes. “Oh, your wife and her affairs. Yes, I’m sure that must have been unpleasant.” 

“Well, yes. Of course it was. But that’s not what I was talking about.” 

“No?” 

“No,” Lestrade answered. “I’ve always been surprised that you never deduced it. Maybe it’s because I never told you that I’m not exactly straight.” 

“What?” Sherlock squawked, leaning back to look the older man in the eye.

Lestrade chuckled. “That’s right. There are some things even the great Sherlock Holmes didn’t observe.” 

“I’d never thought about it. You were married, so it seemed irrelevant.” 

“You also missed the fact that I’m in love with a man. Have been for years. Even before my divorce.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Sherlock said. “Nothing could get past me for _years_.” 

“This did,” the DI responded with a grin. 

“Who is it? Do I know him?” Sherlock asked, his brow knitted in confusion. 

Greg snorted a laugh. “Yeah, you know him.” 

“Who is it, Lestrade?” Sherlock growled. 

“I’m not telling you, Sherlock. It’s been a secret this long, I see no reason to humiliate myself now.” 

“You _have_ to tell me!” Sherlock said. “You can’t just dangle a moderately interesting piece of information in front of me and then not tell me! That makes you a tease and no one likes a tease.” 

Both men laughed at that. Greg finally felt Sherlock relax a bit. 

“So, tell me,” Sherlock chuckled. 

“Never. Stop being a brat.”

“I’m never a bratl” Sherlock replied with a fake sneer. “Is it Dimmock?”

“Oh, please! He’s just a baby! I’m an old man. God, no.”

“Mmmm… Is it Carter over on the Drug Squad?”

“Nope,” Greg answered. 

Sherlock’s thought for a moment before his face fell and his eyes widened.

“It better not be Anderson, or I swear to God I’ll never speak to you again!”

“Anderson?! Fuck no! Absolutely not!” Lestrade cringed. “No, Sherlock. He doesn’t actually work for the Met.”

“But you and I both know him, so he must have something to do with crime scenes. Those are the only places you and I both frequent.” 

Greg made an affirmative noise. “Yeah, he shows up on crime scenes sometimes.” 

Sherlock thought for a moment; replaying recent crime scenes in his head; looking for a man who didn’t work for the Met, but still managed to insert himself on a regular basis. Suddenly, he stopped moving. 

“For God’s sake, Lestrade! Tell me it’s not my brother! ” Sherlock looked like he might vomit. 

Greg chuckled at Sherlock’s display of disgust. “Your brother is an extremely handsome man,” Sherlock’s eyes widened so much Lestrade thought they might just fall out of his head. “But no, Sherlock. It’s not Mycroft.” 

“Thank God,” Sherlock whispered as his body relaxed again. 

Sherlock thought some more. There was only one other person he could think of.

“Is it- It isn’t… It’s not John is it?” Sherlock asked. It sounded almost sad.

“No, Sherlock,” Greg said gently. “No, it’s not John.”

Sherlock nodded. He didn’t know why exactly, but that was very comforting. He thought for several moments, but couldn’t come up with any other names. 

“I don’t know who it could be,” he admitted. “I can’t think of anyone else.”

Greg couldn't help but laugh. It was so unusual to see Sherlock not be able to figure something out. The DI was sort of enjoying it. He enjoyed it a bit more when his laugh caused Sherlock to pout.

“You’re being unfair,” Sherlock murmured. “You know my secret. The least you could do is tell me yours.” 

“Are you even really interested? Or do you just hate that there’s something that I’ve been able to hide from you for this long?” 

“Can it be both?”

“Git,” Lestrade chuckled. 

Sherlock looked Lestrade straight in the eye. “I honestly want to know. Please, Lestrade? It’s kind of nice to know that someone besides me is pining.” 

That broke the older man’s resolve. It was finally time to tell Sherlock. After all these years, it was finally time. Greg wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist and closed the space between their bodies.

“It’s you, you idiot.” 

Sherlock stopped dancing. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He just stared at Greg for several moments. Greg started to become concerned. 

“Sherlock?” the DI dropped his hands to his sides and took a step back. “Are you ok? Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry! Just- Just forget I said anything. Okay?”

“No!” Sherlock snapped. “Fuck it all, Lestrade. Why didn’t you tell me this years ago?”

“In the beginning it was because I was married and, well, you were you. I didn’t know if you were even interested in that sort of thing. By the time I was divorced, you were in love with John. I wasn’t going to mess that up for you. And then, John had Mary, but I could tell you were hurting. There was no room for me there.” 

Sherlock huffed again. “So why are you telling me now?” 

“Because it’s been long enough and I had to get it off my chest. Also, I've had a lot to drink. I know now that telling you was a bad decision. I’m sorry.” Greg looked down at his shoes, trying to hide the humiliation on his face.

“I was in love with you, too.” Sherlock said quietly. 

Greg’s head snapped up. He must have heard that wrong. “What?”

“I was in love with you, too. In the beginning.” Sherlock answered, staring past Greg. “You cared about me, helped me get clean, gave me puzzles. You took an interest in me and didn’t think I was a freak. You were very special to me.

“However, you were married and I had no desire to get entangled in an affair, so I kept it to myself. Eventually, John came along and I became focused on him. Then, he had Mary and I lost another man I loved. I’ve been miserable.” 

Greg took Sherlock’s hand in his own. “I’m sorry Sherlock. I’d have told you, but it never seemed to be the right time. But you haven’t lost me. I’m right here. I’ll stay right here if you need me. I still love you. You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.” 

Sherlock stared at Greg for a moment before leaning forward and pressing his mouth to the DI’s. As Greg’s lips moved under his own, Sherlock felt a fire light in his belly. The older man reached out and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock’s hands went up and cupped the back of Greg’s head. The kiss deepened and Greg pulled him impossibly closer. 

Sherlock broke the kiss. His hands dropped down to grip Lestrade’s shoulders, and he rested his forehead on Greg’s. 

“Greg?” The younger man whispered. 

“Yeah?”

“Come home with me?” 

“Yes.”


	2. We'll Figure It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys make it back to Baker Street and into Sherlock's bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big thank you to lookupkate for everything you do. You're the best beta, editor, cheerleader, and girlfriend in the world. This is only possible because of you. Love you, baby!

Greg knew he'd had quite a lot to drink and gave his keys to Sherlock so the younger man could drive them back into town. The drive to Baker Street was long and quiet. Neither man knew what to say, so Greg had plenty of time to contemplate his good fortune. He was just buzzed enough that he felt no embarrassment for staring at the beautiful man in the driver’s seat. 

Years ago, when they’d first met, Sherlock was just a nuisance. A tall, horribly thin, irritatingly sarcastic hurricane that occasionally swept- unsolicited- onto crime scenes and spouted off deductions so quickly that Greg hadn’t been able to keep up. The first time he'd shown up Greg had been convinced Sherlock must have committed the crime himself. The lad had to prove his own innocence. A simple enough task for the genius. 

The older man had been immediately intrigued by Sherlock Holmes. The kid was a complete screw up, of course. He was always high. Greg thought he had the look of someone who lived on the streets most of the time, but had somewhere to go when things got really bad. He showed up occasionally with new clothes, and he never seemed to be starving. Someone must have been taking care of him. Like a stray cat that would occasionally visit a nice old lady for some scraps of food but would never stick around.

But, beyond all that, past drug use and the bad attitude; Greg saw something interesting in the lad. Sherlock was certainly the most intelligent person Lestrade had ever met. He was somehow both frenzied and meticulous. He seemed to care about no one, but he still wanted to help bring criminals to justice. Sure, the younger man claimed that all he cared about was the puzzle; but Greg didn’t really believe that was the whole story. So he decided to let Sherlock help on the occasions that he showed up. Sherlock got his puzzles and Greg got to keep a bit of an eye on the boy. 

Then, there had come a day when Sherlock showed up not just a little bit high, but completely fucked. The older man had known this would happen one day. Sherlock had been stumbling around, completely manic. Greg had been just about ready to grab the boy and tell him to leave when Anderson had started yelling at Sherlock for disturbing the crime scene. Sherlock had tackled Anderson to the ground and punched him in the nose before Greg and three other officers could separate them. 

That was the final straw. Lestrade had to rein Sherlock in before his superiors found out he was letting a drug fiend help solve cases. As much as it hurt him, Greg slapped his cuffs around Sherlock’s wrists and shoved him into a police car. That night, Lestrade had met Mycroft Holmes for the first time. Together, they decided that Sherlock had to go to rehab, whether he like it or not. Greg had told the addict that he wasn’t allowed on any more crime scenes until he’d been clean for 6 months. 

Six months later, Lestrade received a phone call from the eldest Holmes. Mycroft informed him that Sherlock was on his way to NSY. He assured Greg that Sherlock had indeed been clean for the past months and that Mycroft had measures in place to ensure his little brother stayed off the drugs. Greg had no idea exactly what that meant, but he was glad for it. 

Sure enough, within the hour, Sherlock waltzed into Lestrade’s office and demanded a case. He’d been consulting for NSY (actually it was mostly just Greg) since that day. 

With the drugs out of his system and some meat on his bones-still not enough, but some- Sherlock looked good. Greg noticed, of course he did, but he was married. His marriage was falling apart, but Greg was trying like hell to keep it together. Rumors of him flirting with a young, handsome genius wouldn’t help save his marriage, so he kept it all in. He was actually sure that Sherlock would figure it out, but he’d never mentioned it. By the time his wife finally filed for divorce, Greg knew that Sherlock had feelings for John. So Greg stayed on the sidelines. But now, well, John was out of the picture. Maybe it was finally time for-

“Lestrade!” Sherlock called. His tone told Greg that it wasn’t the first time Sherlock had spoken.

“Huh?” Greg responded stupidly.

“I said we’re at Baker Street,” the younger man said irritably. “What were you thinking about so deeply?”

Greg’s mouth formed a soft smile before he murmured, “You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” the DI replied. “How we met, those early days when you were more cocaine than flesh and blood, and all the years that I’ve secretly wanted you.” 

Sherlock’s eyebrows rose into his fringe. He was silent for a moment before he smirked and leaned forward, into Greg’s personal space. “You can have me right now if you get your arse out of this car and into my flat.” He pressed kiss to Greg’s lips and leaned back. Greg opened his door so fast he nearly fell out onto the pavement. 

They barely got through the door of 221 before Greg gathered Sherlock in his arms and set to work snogging him senseless. 

“Greg,” Sherlock chuckled into the DI’s mouth. “As eager as I am for this, I don’t think fucking on the staircase would be comfortable for either of us.” 

Hearing the curse in Sherlock’s posh accent sent a spike of arousal through Greg’s belly.

“Wanna give it shot?” he mumbled against Sherlock’s lips. 

“Not tonight,” Sherlock said, pulling away. “I have a very comfortable bed right upstairs.” 

Greg growled. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, then smirked and took the older man’s hand.

“Come along, Garret.” 

“Prick,” Greg laughed and allowed Sherlock to lead him up the stairs. 

As soon as Greg walked through the door, Sherlock slammed it behind him and shoved Greg back against it. Their lips met again. God, Sherlock’s lips were a fucking miracle! They were soft and plush. His mouth was wet and warm. His tongue felt like silk as it slid against Greg’s own. Lestrade moaned as he imagined that mouth stretched around his cock. 

Greg reached up and removed Sherlock’s scarf, and dropped it to the ground. He trailed kisses down the other man’s jaw and went to work nibbling on his neck as he pushed the Belstaff off his shoulders and let it join the scarf. 

Sherlock relieved Greg of his own coat and suit jacket. Greg tangled his fingers into Sherlock’s curls as the younger man divested himself of his suit jacket. Sherlock took a tiny step back and began to remove his tie and toe off his shoes. Greg took the hint and did the same. Within moments, Sherlock was pressed against him again. 

Sherlock wrapped his arms around Greg’s waist, holding him tight and gripping the back of his shirt. He began kissing and sucking at the soft skin just below the DI’s ear. 

Greg could feel Sherlock’s erection pressing into his hip. He wiggled and pressed against it, earning a moan from the taller man. 

“Bedroom,” Sherlock growled in to Greg’s ear. Greg nodded and without breaking contact, the two men moved through the kitchen and down the hallway into Sherlock’s room. They stopped next to the bed and continued kissing as Sherlock reached between them to undo Greg’s belt and trousers. Lestrade fumbled with the buttons on Sherlock’s waistcoat and then his shirt. 

Suddenly, Sherlock pulled away, panting. His voice was low and rough with arousal as he said, “This will be faster if we undress ourselves.” 

Greg simply nodded and wordlessly started to unbutton his shirt. They undressed quickly; carelessly throwing their clothes to the floor. 

When they were both naked, Sherlock pushed Greg down onto he bed and crawled up to straddle him. The younger man sat with his arse on Greg’s groin and they studied each other. The DI’s eyes wondered over the ethereal man before him. Sherlock’s face and chest were flushed, his hair caught the light from the streetlamp outside the window and it looked like a halo around his gorgeous face. His cock was positively mouthwatering; flushed, hard, and jutting out proudly below the smooth, flat plane of his torso.

“Beautiful,” Greg whispered reverently. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

He sat up, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist. He tilted his head up and captured Sherlock’s mouth in a rough kiss. Sherlock moaned and reached up to tangle his hands in Greg’s silvering hair. 

Sherlock moved his hips and Greg nearly shouted as their cocks aligned. Sherlock started to grind against Greg, rubbing their erections together between their bellies. 

Lestrade almost screamed in frustration when he heard his mobile start ringing.

“Ignore it,” Sherlock growled.

“I can’t ignore it. It’s the Yard.”

“I ignore calls from them all the time.”

“You don’t work there so you can’t get fired,” Greg retorted, smacking Sherlock’s thigh lightly. “Up!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but let Greg up. The DI stood and snatched his trousers up off the floor. He yanked his mobile out of his pocket and answered. 

“What?” he snarled. 

“S-sorry to bother you, Greg” Dimmock stammered, caught off guard by Lestrade’s response. “I know you’re supposed to be on holiday for a few days but we could really use some help with-“

“Whatever you need, someone else is going to have to deal with it.” Greg interjected. “I’ve been drinking and I’m in no condition to work. This is exactly why I took the days off in the first place!” 

“Right. Yeah, ok.” Dimmock replied. “Sorry, Greg. We’ll figure something else out.”

“Wonderful.” Lestrade snapped and hung up the phone. He took a few deep breaths before turning back to Sherlock. 

“Do you have to leave?” Sherlock asked.

“No,” Greg answered, taking in the fantastic sight in front of him.

Sherlock was magnificent. He was stretched out on his back, one arm tucked behind his head. His other hand was lazily stroking his cock. It was more amazing than any fantasy Greg had ever had (and he’d had some truly incredible ones).

It was at that moment that Greg realized something. As much as he loved Sherlock Holmes, and as badly as he’d wanted this, he didn’t want it like this. He didn’t want a quick fuck. He didn’t want a one-night thing that they’d never speak of again. He wanted everything. He wanted a relationship with Sherlock, or nothing at all. 

Sherlock stopped his motions and sat up. “You’re overthinking this, Greg.”

“Maybe,” the older man replied. He sat on the edge of the bed and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “What is this, Sherlock? Is this just about you trying to forget about John? Or is this about you and me?” 

Greg turned and looked into Sherlock’s eyes. After a moment, Sherlock looked down at his hands.

“I honestly have no idea. I’m a bit confused about all these _emotions_.” Sherlock spat out the last word like it was poison. 

“That’s okay,” Greg said, reaching over and taking Sherlock’s hand. “You don’t have to figure it out right now. But, I don’t want to have sex tonight. I mean, I do. I really bloody do. But, I don’t want to mess things up between us. And once we shag, we can’t ever take it back.”

Sherlock nodded but stayed silent and didn’t look up. So, Greg used his free hand to tilt the other man’s chin up so they were looking at each other again. 

“I’ve waited years for you, Sherlock. If we’re gonna do this, I want to give it a proper go. I want a real relationship. I want to take you on dates and cook you dinner. I want you to come to bed with me because you want me. Not because you want to forget about someone else. Would you be interested in trying that?”

“I’ve never done that before,” Sherlock mumbled. “I’ve never actually dated anyone. I might be rubbish at it.”

Greg chuckled and gave Sherlock a quick kiss. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out. Let’s just give it go, yeah?”

Sherlock swallowed and nodded. Greg’s face broke into a grin and he pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead. 

“Great,” the DI said, rising to retrieve his clothes, “I guess I’ll get a cab home.”

“NO!” Sherlock cried, gripping Greg’s hand tightly. “I mean- um. Would you stay? Please? We don’t have to do anything. I just- I’d rather you stay with me.” 

Greg was surprised by the request and thought for a moment before nodding. 

“Yeah, ok. I’ll stay. Just let me put my pants back on. You, too.”

When they had both pulled their pants back on, they returned to the bed. They lay facing each other. Greg took a chance and snaked his arm around Sherlock’s waist, pulling the younger man flush against him. After a few moments, Sherlock nuzzled his face into Greg’s chest. 

“Thank you, Greg.”

“Shhh…” Greg responded, “It’s ok. Go to sleep, Sherlock. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Within five minutes both men were asleep. 


	3. You Need to Leave Him Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock thinks about the past. Mycroft is Mycroft. Greg is a BAMF in nothing but his pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter! Yay! I'm not really sure why, but I'm ridiculously proud of this one. Kate liked it, so hopefully everyone else will too! 
> 
> As always, thanks to my beautiful lookupkate! Like every other thing I write, she proofread this for me and fixed some of my glaringly obvious mistakes. Any remaining issues are mine because I'm horrible!

Sherlock woke up feeling pleasantly warm and comfortable. He hadn’t slept that well in longer than he cared to remember. He tried to hang on the remaining tendrils of sleep, unwilling to leave the comfort of bed just yet. He was startled into alertness when something shifted against him. His eyes flew open and he found himself gazing upon the face of a sleeping Lestrade.

He realized he was curled into the older man. Greg had one arm under Sherlock’s head and the other arm was wrapped around his torso. Sherlock liked the feel of it, warm and heavy on his ribs. Their legs were tangled together and Sherlock found that quite nice, too. 

Sherlock had never spent the night in bed with anyone before. He’d experimented with sex in Uni but he’d always left after the act was done. He never once invited anyone into his own bed, preferring to be able to escape quickly and whenever he felt like it. The thought of actually sleeping with another person had disturbed him. People do strange and disgusting things in their sleep. If he’d been woken by another person’s snoring or drooling, it would have been too much to handle. And the thought of trying to make conversation the morning after was abhorrent. He’d also never cared about anyone he’d had sex with. He did care about Greg Lestrade. 

Before John came along, Greg had been the only person that could handle Sherlock. He never called Sherlock names like “freak”, he was never hurtful, and he actually wanted Sherlock’s help. Most importantly, Greg stood up for him. When another cop was being hateful, Greg would step in and tell them to fuck off. No one had ever done that before. 

It had taken Sherlock an embarrassingly long time to recognize that he was romantically attracted to the DI. The realization hit him while they were on a case. He and Lestrade were standing in a dirty alley on a miserably cold night, looking down at the body of man who Sherlock said had obviously been killed by his brother. Sherlock had been staring at the dead man’s shoes and firing off deductions when he heard Greg whisper something.

“What?” Sherlock had asked, irritated that he had to pause his explanation. 

Lestrade chuckled “I said you’re bloody brilliant.”

Sherlock’s muscles tensed up for a moment, preparing for the barb that was sure to accompany the praise. No one ever complimented Sherlock without twisting it into an insult. When no hateful comment came, Sherlock slowly turned to look at the older man. Greg was grinning and looked directly into Sherlock’s eyes. 

All of the breath was sucked from Sherlock’s lungs. He was suddenly quite warm and felt a nearly uncontrollable urge to kiss Lestrade. That smile was just so beautiful; dazzling white teeth against slightly tanned skin, and Sherlock wanted to taste it. He needed to know if it tasted as delicious as it looked. 

Sherlock had been staring long enough that Lestrade’s smile started to falter and that brought the younger man back out of his daze. Sherlock suddenly sucked in a breath, turned on his heel, left the crime scene, and avoided Lestrade for two weeks. 

By the time Sherlock saw the DI again he had decided to keep his romantic revelation to himself. Lestrade was married. He was a father and a respectable man. If they had an affair and were found out, it would destroy the older man’s entire life. All of that aside, Sherlock had no desire to be ‘something on the side’. That was too much work. Also, it might be said that Sherlock was a jealous man. If he couldn’t have Lestrade all to himself, he didn’t want him at all. 

Sherlock decided to completely ignore the attraction. He didn’t let himself think of Lestrade in a romantic sense. He only stayed in the man’s presence as long as was strictly necessary, he didn’t talk to Lestrade more than he absolutely had to, and Sherlock absolutely never let his eyes linger on the older man when he was bending over, or ordering people around, or smiling. Well, ok. Maybe his eyes lingered a little. But that’s no one’s business, is it? 

It hurt. Sherlock would never admit it, but it had hurt to look but never touch. It had upset the younger man to see Lestrade’s face every time he found out his wife was cheating, and all the times she’d threatened to take the children and leave Greg all alone. Lestrade had tried so hard to keep his marriage together. He’d done everything she’d asked and she still wouldn’t stop hurting him. 

Then, John had come along. It had been easy to fall for John. He was so kind and patient. He praised Sherlock instead of calling him a freak or a psychopath. He was a strong, steady, calming presence for Sherlock to cling to when his mind was racing out of control. John could always manage to say the one thing that would unlock the answer. John Watson was Sherlock’s personal conductor of light. 

There had been an opening, that moment at Angelo’s when John had not-so-subtlety hit on him. As soon as Sherlock realized what John was doing, Lestrade’s face had flashed across Sherlock’s thoughts and he suddenly didn’t want to be talking to John about boyfriends so he panicked and turned John down. From that moment on, John was “not gay” and Sherlock didn’t know how to fix the issue. He’d pined quietly and hated every moment of it until the day he realized he’d have to leave. Sherlock suspected that a romantic entanglement with John would have made the Moriarty issue so much more difficult to deal with. 

Being ‘dead’ meant being without John and Lestrade, but it also meant they were safe. That was all that mattered. 

Sherlock had spent those two years running, hiding, fighting, killing, taking beatings, and solving the odd crime as he dismantled Moriarty’s web. He’d also spent that time wishing for John. No, not just wishing; burning, aching, longing. Sherlock had thought nothing would ever hurt as badly as finding out that John had moved on without him. He’d been wrong. Watching the man he loved marry someone else hurt more than anything Sherlock had ever known. None of the torture he’d endured had hurt as badly as losing John to Mary. 

For a moment, Sherlock lost himself in thoughts of yesterday’s wedding. He realized that while it all still hurt terribly, the ache wasn’t quite as deep. It was slightly less raw. He actually felt better than he had in weeks. 

XXXXXXXXXXX

Sherlock hadn’t realized he’d been drifting off again until he was awoken by the sound of the door to 221 opening and shutting. Then there were footsteps on the stairs. 

Not as slow as Ms. Hudson or as loud as John. Sure, deliberate stride; walking in like they owned the place. Footsteps Sherlock would recognize anywhere. Mycroft. What the fuck did he want? 

Normally, the younger Holmes would stay in bed, forcing his brother to either wait in the sitting room or come get him. Today, however, Sherlock hopped right out of bed and threw on one of his dressing gowns. He didn’t Mycroft coming in and seeing him and Greg lying in bed in their pants. With one more glace toward the gorgeous man in his bed, Sherlock stalked out to figure out just what the hell Mycroft wanted. 

The older man was sitting in John’s old chair. He had his ever-present umbrella in one hand, tapping it against the floor.

“Why are you here?” Sherlock growled, walking around to take a seat in his own chair. 

Mycroft looked up, a vaguely smug expression on his face. “What makes you think I want anything, brother dear?” 

“You never come here without wanting something, even if that something is just to annoy me.” 

“I was simply concerned about you, Sherlock,” Mycroft answered with barely-veiled sarcasm. “You were so very upset yesterday. I wanted to make sure you were ok. I wouldn’t want you to be _lonely_.”

“Stop it, Mycroft!” Sherlock snapped. “I’m not an idiot. I know you watch every move I make. I know that you know I’m not here alone. So can we just skip all the games? Say what you came to say and get out.”

Mycroft arched an eyebrow and sighed. “Sherlock, you know this isn’t going to end well. Detective Inspector Lestrade is a good man, esteemed in the community, respected as one of the Scotland Yard’s finest. You are an ex-junkie with a bad attitude and a worse reputation. 

‘If you were to pursue a relationship with Lestrade, you would drag him down. People who do not respect you, will lose respect for him. If you ever get into trouble again like you did with that Moriarty business, it won’t just be your image in jeopardy, it will hurt him too. You need to leave him alone, Sherlock.”

“You need to mind you own goddamn business, you bastard!” 

Both Holmes men were startled by Greg’s booming voice coming from the hallway. They’d been so distracted with each other, they hadn’t heard him getting up. He stomped into the sitting room, dressed only in his tight, black boxer briefs. 

“Just who the fuck do you think you are, Mycroft Holmes?” the DI shouted. “You don’t get to swagger in here and talk to Sherlock like that! What he and I do is none of your bloody business. He’s an adult and he’s entitled to do as he pleases.”

“Detective Inspector, I’m-“ Mycroft began, carefully practiced patience still intact. 

“No!” Greg snarled. “I don’t want to hear it. You get the hell out of here. Come back when you can keep your big nose out of Sherlock’s affairs.” 

With that Greg strode across the room and pulled the door open. When Mycroft made no move to get up, Greg pointed to the stairs. 

“I said go, Mycroft!” He nearly roared. 

Mycroft looked to Sherlock. No one else would have noticed the hint of shock in Mycroft’s eyes. But Sherlock saw it and it pleased him to no end. 

Sherlock smirked at his brother. “You heard the man, Mycroft. Go.”

The eldest Holmes opened his mouth to say something, but an angry sniff from Greg cut him off. Without another word, Mycroft stood and walked out of the flat. Greg slammed the door behind him.

Before Greg could even turn all the way around Sherlock had him pressed up against the door. They were smashed together from chest to thigh and Sherlock pushed forward to claim Lestrade’s mouth with his own. They kissed until neither of them could breathe and they had to break apart. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” Greg said, “but what’s all this about?”

Sherlock smiled. “No one has ever told Mycroft off like that for me. It was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.” 

“Well, he’s a bastard.” Greg chuckled as he reached up to stroke Sherlock’s hair. “You know everything he said was rubbish, yeah?”

Sherlock hesitated before pulling away and walking into the kitchen.

“Sherlock?” Greg called, following the younger man. He stood in the doorway and watched as Sherlock started filling the kettle.

“It’s not rubbish though, is it?” Sherlock asked quietly. “It’s all true. If we were in a relationship, anything I did would reflect on you. And since the majority of things I do aren’t considered good, that would cause you problems.” 

Greg huffed angrily and walked over to Sherlock. He pulled the kettle out of Sherlock’s hand and set it on the worktop. 

“Sit.”

Sherlock sat in one of the kitchen chairs and Greg plopped down next to him. Greg scrubbed his hands over his face before sitting up and looking at the younger man. He smiled softly, reaching over and threading their fingers together. 

“Listen to me, Sherlock. I’ve known you for a long time. When we met you were a smackhead with a horrible attitude, who didn’t care about anything but puzzles. I know the strength that it took for you to get clean and the strength it takes for you to stay clean. 

‘I’ve seen that brilliant mind of yours solve puzzles that no one else would ever even comprehend. I’ve watched you change from a man who didn’t care about anything, into a man who cares so deeply for his friends that he would fake his death for two years so that he could disable and international crime network, just to keep them safe. You did that for me, Sherlock, and I will never be able to thank you enough.”

Lestrade’s voice hitched and Sherlock felt his own chest tighten.

“Sherlock, I’ve watched you change into a truly good man. A man who cares about people. A man who will make any sacrifice to ensure that the people he loves are safe and happy. You are a man that I would be both proud and honored to call mine. I will never be ashamed of my association with you, no matter what happens. I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time. So, ignore your stupid brother and let’s give this a try, alright?” 

Sherlock couldn’t speak. No words could describe how Greg’s declaration made him feel. In lieu of saying anything, Sherlock just nodded.

Greg smiled and leaned over to give Sherlock a quick kiss. 

“Great. Now, want me to cook some breakfast?”

“There’s nothing in,” Sherlock replied. “I hate grocery shopping.” 

The DI laughed at the image of Sherlock at the market. He pictured him angry and huffing as he tried to choose between biscuits or cereals. 

“Alright,” Greg said, “Now’s as good a time as any for our first date. Let me take you out for breakfast.”


	4. Don't I Always?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys have a breakfast date and some important discussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I haven't forgotten about this story, I've just been obsessing over my other fic 'Set The World On Fire'. Go check it out if you haven't already. I needed a break from that story and this one has been calling out for a new chapter, so here you go!

The two men walked back to Sherlock’s bedroom to get dressed. It was only then that Greg realized he didn’t actually have any clean clothes to change into. His first thought was to ask to borrow something. He looked over to Sherlock and the question caught in the DI’s throat. He watched Sherlock remove his dressing gown and reveal his long, lean form. There was no way Greg would fit into anything in that skinny git’s wardrobe. But his clothes from last night smelled like beer and that wouldn’t do. 

Luckily, Greg knew there were spare clothes stowed in the trunk of his car. Police work could sometimes get messy and it was good to have an extra outfit or two on hand. The DI had learned that lesson early in his career when he had to wear a blood-soaked uniform after investigating a particularly gruesome crime scene. Greg slipped into his crumpled shirt and trousers. 

“I’ll be right back,” he called, walking toward the door. “I have some clean clothes out in my car. I’ll just go fetch them.” 

Shortly after Greg left the room, Sherlock’s mobile chimed with a text alert. The consulting detective grabbed the device to check who it was from. 

**John**

Sherlock felt that wretched ache in his chest again. What could John possibly want? It was his honeymoon. Wasn’t he supposed to be focused on Mary? Shouldn’t they be shagging or something equally horrifying? Sherlock unlocked the screen and read the message. 

**Sherlock, Mary and I were talking and neither of us remembers seeing you after the talk we had about the pregnancy. Where did you get off to? When did you leave? Are you ok?**

Sherlock huffed. They hadn’t even noticed he’d left. Well, that was what he’d wanted anyway. He’d wanted to make a quick escape without anyone noticing. For some reason it still hurt that John hadn’t realized Sherlock was missing. But now he was taking time out from his honeymoon to ask Sherlock what had happened. 

‘John must feel guilty,’ Sherlock thought. ‘He probably thinks that I relapsed last night. I had intended to. If Greg hadn’t stopped me, I would have tracked down a dealer and thrown nearly 10 years of sobriety down the drain.’

Greg had saved Sherlock from making a very big mistake. This wasn’t the first time he’d done that. 

The sound of Greg going down the stairs shook Sherlock from his thoughts. He slipped the phone into his pocket without answering John. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The DI returned to Sherlock’s bedroom and began to remove his dirty clothes. The taps in the bathroom shut off and Sherlock emerged, handing Greg a brand-new toothbrush.

“John used to keep extras around in case he ever brought dates home. Just stick it in the holder with mine when you’re finished. You can use my toothpaste and deodorant. I left them on the sink.” 

Greg gave him a grin as he took the toothbrush. “I get to keep a toothbrush at your place? Does that mean you intend for me to stay overnight more often?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tried to look annoyed, but the soft blush creeping over his cheeks told a different story. He had actually been hoping that giving Lestrade his own toothbrush would act as a silent invitation to stay over again. However, he hated the idea that he’d been so transparent. Greg chuckled and pressed a kiss to his cheek before slipping into the loo. 

Sherlock made his way into the living room where he retrieved his shoes from the middle of the room and sat in his chair to put them on. His phone buzzed and dread dropped like a stone into his belly. It was most likely John again. He didn’t want to think about John right now. Greg’s presence was soothing the aches that John had left behind and Sherlock wanted to enjoy that. 

On the other hand, it actually felt very good to know that John was thinking about him. He was supposed to be on his honeymoon, spending all his time focusing on his new wife. But John was using that time to think about Sherlock and that stroked a very dark of Sherlock’s ego. That was probably not good, but it was quite true. 

He removed the mobile from his pocket and read the message. 

**Sherlock? Could you please answer me? I really am worried about you.**

‘Good,’ Sherlock thought, ruefully. ‘Maybe it’s time someone else suffered for a little while.’

He stood and went about collecting the jackets and coats that he and Greg had tossed to the floor in their lustful haze the night before. The memory made heat coil in Sherlock’s groin. The situation was only made worse when Greg emerged from the loo. 

Greg was wearing a white button up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the collar unbuttoned enough to show a hint of his chest. He was also wearing jeans. JEANS! They fit perfectly and Sherlock felt his mouth go dry. The older man looked positively delectable. 

“See something you like?” Greg asked with a smirk. 

‘Yes actually,’ Sherlock thought as he looked away and cleared his throat, trying to will his body to let go of the arousal pooling inside. 

“You, um- You look… nice,” he stammered.

“I don’t think ‘nice’ would make you look like you just swallowed your tongue,” Greg replied, cocking an eyebrow at the other man. “Judging by your reaction, I’m betting I look pretty goddamn sexy.” 

“Can we go now?” Sherlock asked loudly, turning to hide his face. That didn’t stop Greg from noticing the younger man’s cheeks turning from pink to red, but he chose not to comment on it as he grabbed his coat and followed Sherlock out the door. 

The two were soon in Lestrade’s car and headed down Baker Street. Greg had already decided he was going to take Sherlock to his favorite café. It was comfortable, the food was great, and it reminded him of a place his granddad used to take him when he was a kid. He took his kids there every other Saturday morning.

That led Greg to another area of thought. If this thing with Sherlock went as well as he was hoping, he’d have to introduce Sherlock to his kids. He’d never had a reason to tell his children that he was bisexual, but he had worked hard to teach them that a person’s sexuality isn’t important that love is equal regardless of gender. He wasn’t worried that they’d have a problem with Sherlock being a bloke. However, Sherlock wasn’t easy to get along with. Did he even like kids?

Lestrade turned his head, opening his mouth to ask. Sherlock was already looking at him with an amused expression.

“What?” Greg asked.

“I’ve told you before that you think very loudly. I know exactly what you’re thinking about and I happen to be very good with children.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes. I quite like them, in fact. They’re honest and direct. They’re eager to learn and smarter than people realize. They can observe better than most adults because their thought processes are simpler. They don’t get bogged down with extraneous information or prejudices. I don’t pander to them. I am truthful and direct and they appreciate that.” 

Greg was taken back for a moment. He never would have guessed this about Sherlock. He’d assumed that the man would find children irritating. 

“So, would you be open to meeting them soon? My kids?” 

“I have no objections. Whenever you’re ready.” 

Sherlock was positive that someone more poetic would have described Greg’s smile as ‘glowing’. 

“Great!” The older man said as they pulled up to the café. “I bring them here for breakfast on my weekends. Maybe you can join us in a few weeks.” 

“Alright.”

As they exited the car and turned to walk toward the café, Lestrade had the urge to take Sherlock’s hand. He would have thought that the younger man wouldn’t like that, but he had surprised Greg several times in the past day. He was having an internal debate about whether he should give it a try or not when the younger man spoke.

“For heaven’s sake! I can still hear you thinking, you idiot!” Sherlock reached out and took Greg’s hand, threading their fingers together. 

If Greg’s earlier smile could be described as ‘glowing’, this smile could only be ‘blinding’. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As the two men finished their breakfast, Sherlock’s mobile rang. His expression tightened a bit as he looked at the caller ID. 

“What’s wrong?” Greg asked, his voice tinged with concern. “Sherlock, who is it?” 

Sherlock answered by laying the mobile on the table when Greg could see it. 

“John? Why didn’t you answer?”

Sherlock sniffed and looked out the window. 

“I’m not ready to talk to him yet. Everything was so awful yesterday and now everything is…different.” Sherlock glanced at Lestrade’s face before looking down at his coffee cup. “I’m not ready to answer the kinds of questions I know he’ll ask.” 

Greg reached across the table and laid his hand on top of Sherlock’s. He’d have to tread carefully here. Sherlock was much more fragile than he’d ever admit and Greg knew things were very confusing for his (boyfriend?)- for Sherlock.

“It’s alright, Sherlock.” Greg said softly. “You don’t have to explain anything to anyone until you’re ready. If it’s me you’re worried about, don’t be. You don’t have to tell anyone about us right now. It’s no one else’s business. But John is your friend and you’re making him worry. He’s probably thinking you left last night and went and got high. He’s probably wondering if you’ve overdosed or gotten the shit kicked out of you or something. You need to let him know you’re ok. You don’t have to say anything else.” 

Sherlock stared at his mobile. He didn’t have the words to explain all the horrid emotions that swirled inside him. He had no experience with these things, no past instances to draw upon for guidance. He was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly leapt out of his skin when his mobile rang again.

**John**

“I can’t. I know you’re right, Greg, I should let him know I’m okay, but I just can’t talk to him.” 

Greg tightened his grip on Sherlock’s hand and grabbed the mobile with his other hand. “Can I?”

The younger man hesitated for a moment before nodding.

Greg tapped the screen and brought the phone to his ear. “Hello, John.”

“Greg?” John asked. “Oh, Jesus! Greg, what’s wrong? Is he ok? What has he done?”

“Calm down, mate. Sherlock is perfectly fine. He’s right here with me. I just forced him to eat some breakfast.” The DI winked at and Sherlock gave him a reassuring smile. 

“Why are you with him?” 

“I just thought he could use some company.” 

“But he’s alright?” John asked again. “He left the wedding early and I haven’t heard from him. I was worried he’d done something stupid.” 

“He’s fine, John. He’s just being a stroppy bastard. Now that the wedding is over, he has nothing to work on and I don’t have any cases for him so he’s being a brat.” 

Sherlock’s indignant huff made Lestrade chuckle. 

“Oh, well, alright then I guess.” John sighed. “Keep an eye on him, yeah?”

“Don’t I always?” 

“Yeah. Thanks, Greg.” 

“No problem.” 

Greg disconnected the call and handed the phone back to Sherlock. “See there? All taken care of.” 

“I’m not a brat.”

“Oh, you definitely are.”

Sherlock’s angry glare did nothing but make Lestrade laugh. The laugh, in turn, made Sherlock smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out with me on tumblr. I don't bite and sometimes there's smut so it's win-win! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/akayarnjunkie

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this: 
> 
> http://bakerstreetbabes.tumblr.com/post/85127416505/why-didnt-sherlock-just


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